


Just Like Old Times

by WorseOmens



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Night at the Museum (2006)
Genre: Fluff, Humour, Love Confessions, M/M, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are documented many times through history, and they were bound to become museum exhibits eventually.(Or: Wax figures of the ineffable husbands come to life in the Museum of Natural History, and it's a whole new life)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley, Ineffable Husbands - Relationship
Comments: 46
Kudos: 511





	Just Like Old Times

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched Night At The Museum last night and that film is the epitome of my childhood... then this happened. It's a fluff piece based on a stupid idea I had while I was watching it. Enjoy.

It was rare that the Natural History Museum received any new exhibits, but there was a first time for everything. A government grant had boosted their budget enough to invest in a couple of new ideas, the centrepiece of which being an art hall. 

It wasn't a traditional one, of course. They had repurposed a previously vacant corridor, filling the alcoves with wax model recreations of pieces of historical art over time. It was an ingenious way to cut costs, since they didn't have to worry about buying original pieces of art, and it was a novel enough idea that it might even bring more people in. Larry didn't care, just so long as it didn't disturb the status quo. New arrivals could rock the boat, but he was determined that he'd be prepared for the first time they woke up. The manager finally gave him details of all the incoming exhibits, given enough badgering, and he was able to read up on the characters inside. 

They'd be getting a whole host of Greek philosophers, civil war soldiers, animals and artists from the new models. He thanked God that there were a few inanimate still lifes. It was easy enough to read up on the battle scenes or the Hellenistic pieces, but there were a couple which were giving him trouble. Van Gogh's self-portrait, for example, had a lot of conflicting information surrounding it. 

Then, there was the "Genesis Newton". It was an old piece from an unknown artist, estimated to be from before the common era. The quality of the image was stunning for its age, depicting a thin black-robed figure with long waves of fiery red hair reclining against the trunk of an apple tree, with an enticing red fruit in his palm being offered toward the viewer. It was the apple tree which gave the painting its double-meaning title. The subject's eyes were bright yellow, a key focus of the image, with slits down the centre. The figure was slightly androgynous, and from the research he'd done, there seemed to be two key debates surrounding the painting in a very specific academic niche: Firstly, was the figure male, female or intentionally ambiguous? Secondly, was the image referencing the first temptation in the Book of Genesis? The jury was decidedly out on that one. It seemed fairly straightforward to him, but apparently to the art historians and theologians of the world, it was not. Still, he didn't know what to expect from this wax model, once it came to life. He doubted it was a real person; unless the magic would interpret them to be the person who posed for the artist, rather than the character in the painting...? Hard to say.

The second painting which was giving him trouble was also from an unknown source and vague time period. It was a scene from Ancient Rome, depicting a smiling man in a brilliant white toga. Everything about him shone, and there was even a suggestion of a halo behind his head as faint rays of light poked through the pillars in the background. Again, the significance of those light beams was a hotly debated topic in some academic circles. He was unusually pale for an Italian subject, with white hair and a complexion which held a rosy undertone along his cheekbones. The man was cheerily digging into a meal, and couldn't have looked happier if he'd tried. Everything about the painting oozed warmth, contentedness and luxury. It was generally referred to as the "Lost Saint", on account of the possible halo and general air of joy. 

Larry got into work, giving Teddy's blank eyes a casual wave as he passed. He'd never been entirely clear if they could see and hear during the day, too... He'd have to ask. He'd forewarned the more intelligent exhibits that they would have newcomers tonight, and everyone seemed in fairly good spirits about it. Octavius and Jedediah had been trying to outdo one another to come up with a welcome gift, before Larry reminded them they could just work together. They had spent the vast majority of their time scheming quietly after that, and pretending that he couldn't hear their loud stage whispers. 

He dropped his duffel bag, which was full of items he'd hoped would help him. He had paints, scrolls, biro pens, books, and apples, as well as a few staple items like coins, false keys, and phrase books in various languages. He fidgeted, waiting for the sun to go down. Any second now...

A long, low hiss sounded through the hall. Larry took a step forward, leaning in to look into the alcove it had come from. "Hello?" he called tentatively. He found the exhibit he was looking for; it was the Genesis Newton. He winced; it just had to be the unnerving one to wake up first, didn't it? The figure looked at him blankly, and he decided to try some different languages. "Uh... Salut? Salve? Shalom aleichem?"

The creature rubbed their temples. Their yellow eyes narrowed, and they wrinkled their nose in confusion. "Uh... Aleichem shalom," they replied. There was a beat of silence. "... Sorry, did I hear you speak English a second ago? My Hebrew is rusty."

Larry's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Uh, yeah," he said, nodding. He looked around; the others were being slow to wake, but were managing it in steady succession. He could hear Rexy's distant roar already. "Hey, so, my name is Larry. I'm the night watchman here, welcome aboard."

He held out his hand. The yellow-eyed wax model stared at it for a moment before they shook it, and stood up from their spot beneath the apple tree. "Look, I'm not one to sniff at hospitality, but... Where the bloody Heaven am I?" they said. "It looks like a museum in here."

"It is," he replied, almost stunned by their perceptiveness. "So, the deal here is that in this museum, there is an ancient Egyptian tablet that makes everything come to life at night. That means - and I'm sorry, there's no easy way to say this - you're long dead. You're a wax model, which has come to life."

The creature gave a vague, stunned grunt. Larry looked over his shoulder, noticing the other art exhibits beginning to stray from their alcoves. He thanked God when a few of the more level-headed historical figures began to appear, welcoming their new arrivals and explaining things before he even had to. He saw them gesturing to him, and he gave a polite wave.

"It's, uh, Newton, right?" he said, turning back to the character he'd been talking to.

They scowled. "What? No, who told you that?" they said, curling their lip. "The name's Crowley."

"Right, sorry. It's just - that name, it's what we call your painting," he explained scratching the back of his head.

"My what?"

He paused, before guiding them by the shoulder toward the plaque by their exhibit. He tapped on the information, which contained a small print of the Genesis Newton painting. "There. This whole exhibit, it's a recreation of this," he explained, gesturing to the vacant apple tree. "There's a lot of big wig professors arguing about you, you know."

Crowley's mouth curled into a smirk. "Tell me about it," they said. Academics had been bickering about the serpent of Eden since time immemorial, you didn't need to say so. 

"Yeah, out of interest," he said, putting his hands on his hips. "Are you a man or a woman? Or like, something else? Cause y'know, it's all cool here. We pride ourselves on a very tolerant museum community."

"Something else, but you can address me as a he or a him for now," Crowley replied with a shrug. His pronouns were not his first concern; what the fuck was going on here? He hadn't believed the wax model story at first, wondering if he'd drunkenly stumbled into a museum the night before, but things were starting to look very different. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't feel any of his internal organs. It was all a solid block of something in there, he wasn't sure what... He suddenly felt sick, but he was sure nothing would happen if he tried to follow through. 

Larry watched him carefully, beginning to get concerned. He wasn't blinking. He leaned forward, clearing his throat in an attempt to get his attention. "You okay there, buddy?" he said. "It's a lot to take in, I know..."

He waved him off. "Where's the exit?" he asked, whirling to face him with a wide, unnerving stare. "I have a friend out there, someone I need to find."

He shook his head, holding up his hand. "Sorry, bud, no can do. No one gets in or out on my watch," he said. He jabbed a finger vaguely in the direction of the main doors. "If you get caught out there after dawn, you turn to dust. I can't let that happen. And besides... You were painted, what, thousands of years ago? Hate to break it to you, buddy, I really do, but... your friend is long gone."

He snorted. "Yeah, right," he said, shouldering past him. "That's what you think."

"Look, hey, wait," he called, catching his arm. Crowley turned on him, scowling. "I'm happy to let you head out and explore, but you gotta promise me you won't go outside. It's my job to keep everyone in here safe, and I don't want any dust on my hands, okay?"

"Relax, I'm not - " he began, but abruptly choked on his words. Larry frowned, looking over his shoulder. His eyes landed on the pale figure of the Lost Saint, speaking with Teddy. His eyes were wide, his mouth in a defined O shape; he'd clearly just been given the news. "Angel!"

Larry reeled as Crowley charged past him a second time. The Lost Saint gasped, seeing the dark figure running at him and breaking out into a smile like sunshine. "Crowley!" he said, pressing a hand to his chest in relief. "Oh, thank heavens... This was all starting to get too much for me already."

"Same here. Are you wax, too?" he asked. 

"President Roosevelt here says so," he said, gesturing to the man beside him. 

"Wait, wait," Larry said, looking between them as he caught up. "Do you two know each other?"

"Yes," Crowley said, before Aziraphale could stutter out some half thought-through denial. "Why? You got a problem with that?"

"Well - I just - " he said, shooting a panicked glance at Teddy. He pointed behind him, toward the Genesis Newton plaque. "Your paintings were done hundreds of years apart. Crowley, you'd have been dead even before his grandparents were born."

The demon didn't pay him any mind, taking Aziraphale by the elbow. "Sure. C'mon, angel, we need to talk," he said, pulling him along the hallway. He made a noise of surprise, but followed along, waving politely at Larry as they left.

Watching them go, Teddy finally spoke up. "Lawrence, who was that snake-eyed fellow just then?" he said in an undertone. "I heard his name, but I didn't think such a creature belonged in a museum of natural history! He is pure fantasy, surely."

"Do you know what he is?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Certainly not, my boy, but I know he is not a man," he said uneasily. "Not with those eyes."

"Well, he has memories, and toga-dude recognises him," he replied, trying to maintain a firm grip on reality. "He must have been a real person. The artist probably just painted him with some extra details, that's all."

Teddy hummed apprehensively, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. He didn't comment any further, instead mounting Texas and riding down the corridor. Larry knew he'd be fine. He'd bluster his way through his anxieties, Sacagawea would talk him into a level state of mind, and all would be well. 

Further along, mingling with the diverse members of the museum, Aziraphale and Crowley walked arm in arm. It was unusual for them to be this open out in public, but neither of them felt especially safe. They anchored one another, a reassuringly constant presence in the face of such a monumental change.

"How much do you remember?" Crowley asked, scanning the crowds of historical figures for any sign of a threat. 

"Everything up until I was painted in Rome, and quite a while after," he replied anxiously. "It all gets rather fuzzy near the end of the twentieth century. I seem to recall that Armageddon was coming, but... It can't have done. I mean, look around us."

"My memories stop in the same place," he said pensively. "I had just been asked to deliver the antichrist, and then... nothing."

They stopped on a balcony overlooking the main entrance hall. "Do you...?" Aziraphale began, gripping the marble barrier and swallowing hard. "Well... That is to say, you don't suppose we - ?"

"Died?" Crowley guessed, leaning on the railing beside him. "Could've done. I'd have thought we'd remember it, though, wouldn't you?"

"Best not to speculate," he replied quickly, fixing his wide-eyed stare down below. The thought of non-existence sent a cold chill down his spine. Thunderous footfalls began to approach, and the towering figure of a T-Rex skeleton sprinted through the entrance hall beneath them. "Good Lord!"

"What the - ?" Crowley said at the same time, leaning over slightly as if to watch it as it vanished into the next hall. "Well... Bugger me. I didn't think the Almighty actually made any of those."

The angel let out a long sigh, straightening out his toga. "Nor I," he said, clearly very shaken up by this whole affair. "Crowley, I should like to find somewhere a smidge quieter. I could do with a rest."

"We'll find somewhere. Come on," he said, taking his arm again and beginning to lead him through the museum. As they went, they began to spot old friends. 

"Oh! Was that Columbus I just saw passing by?" Aziraphale exclaimed, twisting around.

"Think so. And look!" he replied, pointing into a doorway as they passed. "There's Copernicus, and Galileo, and good old Leo Da Vinci! I still need to thank him for doing those pictures of us."

"Well, this is marvellous! I have missed them all terribly," he said, smiling again. The sight lifted Crowley's spirits, a warm and familiar fondness blossoming in his chest. _Ah,_ he thought to himself, _some things never change, wax or not..._

He snickered, but ducked his head to whisper in his ear as another dark figure across the way caught his eye. "Don't look now, but I think Attila the Hun is over on your left," he said. "Woo-wee, what a basket case he was. Do you remember?"

"I couldn't possibly forget," he said grimly. They shared a sly glance, fighting back childish giggles. "How awkward."

They broke out into laughter, drawing a little attention from the passing figures. Some of them recognised Aziraphale's bubbly giggles, and others knew Crowley's senseless cackling from another life. More still didn't know them at all, and in this museum, that was as strange as stumbling across an old friend from somewhere in history. Ignoring them all, Crowley steered Aziraphale into an empty-looking room.

They collapsed side-by-side on the bench in the middle of the room, their chuckles still subsiding. A few dioramas were set into the wall around them, but the figurines within had all apprently vacated their exhibits. Aziraphale finally got his breath back, turning to his friend.

"I forgot to mention," he said, "your hair looks lovely. I've always liked it long."

He smiled weakly, stomach flipping. "Thanks," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "The toga's good on you, too. Reminds me of Eden."

"Thank you," he said, wringing his hands together in his lap. They were both keenly aware of the shy side-glanced they shot one another, never quite brave enough to act. It was always too risky, too improper, too rushed.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, fixing him with an enchanted, vulnerable stare. The demon sensed the tone shift, and quickly began paying attention. "You know, if we aren't... if we aren't really us, then... They aren't watching anymore."

He nodded fearfully toward the ceiling as he said it, Crowley knew that it extended to both Heaven and Hell together. His innards jolted, as if his wax heart had skipped a beat. "Yeah?" he said hoarsely, tongue flicking over his lips. 

"We're free to do as we please," he said, almost whispering. He began to lean forward, eyelids fluttering shut. "Finally..."

Crowley was quick on the uptake, eagerly closing the gap between them. A spark ran through his whole being, drawing him in closer, gripping Aziraphale's toga and the warm body beneath. The angel smiled against his lips, tangling his fingers in his hair to depend the embrace.

Neither of them noticed the approaching footsteps until an exclamation of surprise broke them apart. "Oh! Er - God, sorry, um," Larry said, averting his eyes in embarrassment. "I'll go around. Just - er - keep it clean, guys, okay?"

He was vaguely aware of the protests from the Lost Saint as he fled from the room at a half-jog. Aziraphale didn't take too kindly to the idea that he'd be caught doing anything indecent, especially out in the open like that! Larry didn't hang around to hear it. He'd been thinking a lot about those two, wondering how they could possibly know one another, especially as intimately as that. His confusion had only deepened as he spoke to more of the exhibits, many of whom happened to mention that they'd spotted a couple of extra familiar faces tonight. People from all across history, who had lived their lives thousands of years apart, seemed to recognise either Crowley or his friend in some capacity. If he believed them, the Lost Saint's name was Aziraphale. It was starting to get disconcerting. 

He'd actually been looking for Octavius and Jedediah when he'd accidentally walked in on them. He found them scouting their way through the main reception desk. "Hey, guys," he said, leaning down to speak to them. "How's it going?"

"Very well, Larry!" Octavius yelled up to him. "How are the new recruits settling in?"

"Uh, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you guys about," he said awkwardly. "I'm kinda worried about two of them. Well, not worried, just... a little freaked out."

"Someone givin' you trouble, gigantor?" Jed called, punching his palm. "Need us to knock some sense into 'em?"

"Uh, no. Thanks, Jed, but no," he said, holding out his hands to stop that train of thought where it stood. "I just need you guys to follow them around, keep an eye on them for me. If you're smart, they won't even know you're there."

"We accept, Larry," Octavius said, clapping an arm over his chest in salute. "Come, Jedediah!"

Larry sighed, putting his hand across their path before they charged off. "Guys, you don't even know where you're going," he said patiently.

"Oh... Yes, I forgot about that."

"You're looking for Crowley, a redhead dressed all in black with yellow eyes, and his friend, the blond in a toga," he said. He gave a shrug. "You might like Aziraphale, Octavius. I think he's Roman."

"Ah, a citizen!" he replied, nodding appreciatively. 

"Yeah. I last saw them in the diorama room," he said, making to stand up and continue his rounds. Jed straightened up, planting his hands on his hips.

"Hey! What're they doin' in our room?" he said indignantly.

"Uh... They were... Y'know," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Reacquainting themselves. Generally speaking."

Jed narrowed his eyes, sensing something was up. Octavius didn't have patience for it, grabbing his arm and announcing that there was no time to lose. They rushed off together, sliding down their home-made ramp onto the polished floors.

They ran until the doorframe of the diorama room was in sight. As they approached, two long shadows began to emerge. The two miniatures skidded to a halt. Octavius held a finger to his lips, both of them standing flush against the wall as two strangers matching Larry's description stepped out.

"I am so glad I'm not here alone, my dear," Aziraphale said, snuggling close to Crowley. "It would be simply awful without you."

"You do have a habit of nearly getting yourself killed when I'm not there, so you probably wouldn't have to put up with it long," he quipped fondly. "It was the French revolution last time, wasn't it? The Reign of Terror."

He blushed. "That was an honest mistake."

"Yeah, right."

Jed poked his friend. "Hey, I thought gigantor said the guy was a Roman!" he said. "Ain't no ancient Roman alive during the French Revolution."

"Perhaps this is the source of Larry's concern," he replied, edging along the wall to follow their targets. 

Crowley and Aziraphale kept talking as they walked, greeting various old friends from across time as they went. "It is lovely seeing everyone again," Aziraphale commented airily, close to midnight after a long time spent socialising. "I haven't spoken to Alexander the Great in millennia."

He snorted. "He didn't seem happy to see you," he replied. "Weren't you his teacher?"

"One of them," he replied defensively, folding his hands in his lap. "Aristotle did a better job, I'm afraid."

"I'll say. Still, can't be much worse than that bastard from the twentieth century," he said.

"Do you mean Hitler or Stalin?"

"Dunno. Tyrants, they're all the same, aren't they? You've seen one, you've seen them all," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "I made a point of avoiding them altogether after the first few Roman emperors. I never even bothered going near Russia or Germany after the 1940s. Too much trouble."

"Well, it was nice having you close during those decades," he said, leaning close again. "We hadn't spent that much time together in one place since... oh, 3000 BC or thereabouts, I think."

Jed and Octavius sat beneath the bench, listening to the entire conversation. They stared at one another with wide eyes, in silent shock and realisation that had steadily built over the last few hours of spying. Carefully, they edged toward open ground, hearts pounding as they prepared to make a run for it. Octavius held up his fist, signalling to wait. He narrowed his eyes, scanning back and forth. All was quiet. The conversation above them was still going on. In a burst of energy, he pointed forward, and they bolted together out of the shadow of the bench and across the hall.

"Huh. What are those, ants?" Crowley commented airily, catching movement in the corner of his eye.

"They're people, I believe. They do seem to be in a bit of a hurry, don't they?" Aziraphale said as Jed and Octavius disappeared around the corner. "I did wonder why they've been following us all night. I shall have to ask them later."

Crowley shrugged. "Well, now we're alone again..." he said with a wicked grin, leaning in to share another kiss with his angel. 

"GIGANTOR!" Jed screamed as they skidded to a halt by Larry's feet. He paused, trying to catch his breath. "You ain't gonna believe what we heard..."

He looked down, breaking off his conversation with the Easter Island head. "Hey, what's going on?" he said, kneeling down to their level. "You got something?"

"Larry," Octavius said, posing heroically as he spoke. "We have embarked upon a perilous journey, across the length and breadth of this museum, narrowly evading detection at every turn..."

"I nearly got crushed by a god dang mammoth!" Jed chipped in, still hyped up on the adrenaline. 

"To deliver this information, we have risked life and limb," continued the Roman. "The exhibits or Crowley and his lover Aziraphale are immortal. They have lived for many millennia, and shaped much of history."

"Old rattlesnake-eyes even started talkin' about being in the Garden of Eden, gigantor," Jedediah said, suddenly in awe. "Ya know what that means?"

He stared for a long moment. "Yeah. Sure," he said, dusting off his trousers and standing up. He probably should have known better than to put too much faith in these two. They were good guys, but a little lacking somethings where brains were concerned. "Thanks, guys. Look, it's almost dawn, you should be getting home."

"Wha - but - !"

"Hey, no buts," he said, pointing firmly back down the vast halls. "Get going, I don't wanna have to carry you."

"All right, all right, we're goin'," he replied, waving him off. He turned away, dejected and slumped from a night's hard work. "C'mon, Octavius. Gigantor doesn't believe us."

The Roman looked up at Larry judgementally. He put a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder, speaking loudly enough that the night guard could still hear. "Worry not, my friend," he said as they began to walk. "The truth will always live in the hearts of the brave."

Larry ushered all the new arrivals back to their exhibits in person. They were all amiable, if still a little surprised to be resurrected after so long. He paced the hall as they settled back into position in their mocked-up scenes, saying friendly goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows. As he neared the end of the round, he noticed that two people still hadn't gone back to their alcoves.

Aziraphale stood in Crowley's arms, eyes lightly closed as the demon murmured soft comforts in his ear. Larry sighed, loathe to break up such a tender moment. He couldn't stop the coming dawn, however, and he didn't want to have to explain to the museum manager why two of the brand new wax figures were hugging in the middle of the hallway. 

He cleared his throat politely, stepping up. "Hey, you two," he said kindly. "Sorry I gotta do this, but you need to get back in your places."

Aziraphale let out a pained noise. "But it's been so long - "

"You'll see each other tomorrow night, I promise," he said. He looked into the angel's worried gaze, matching it with heartfelt sincerity. "No one's gonna try to keep the two of you apart."

Crowley pressed a kiss to his forehead, Larry's words hitting closer to home than he realised. "We'd better listen, angel," he said, pulling away. "Till tomorrow night, okay? I'll be right across the hall."

Still uncertain, Aziraphale sighed. He nodded reluctantly, giving a sad smile to the night guard before reinstalling himself on the plush sofa of his exhibit. Crowley lowered himself down to rest against the trunk of the apple tree, holding out the fruit just like the painting. Larry waited until the sun had risen, and everything fell still. He lingered inbetween the two alcoves, wondering what story was hidden behind the paintings. It was a mystery... and now he thought about it, immortality didn't really seem any more far-fetched than a magic Egyptian tablet. Still, he had his reservations. He left the hallway with thoughts of tomorrow night in mind, wondering all the things he might do to make the new arrivals more comfortable.

A week or so passed. Larry discovered that Aziraphale had a deep love for books and food, though he had yet to figure out what Crowley had a deep love for besides Aziraphale. They certainly did seem very familiar with a lot of historical figures, but he decided to politely ignore the whole thing. The bigger issue right then was trying to make sure Octavius and Jedediah didn't get on their nerves too much. 

One morning, Larry was halfway down the museum steps when he suddenly remembered that he'd left his coat in the art history corridor. He muttered cursed under his breath, almost slipping on the ice as he turned back to go inside. 

Crowds choked the museum now, of real people rather than wax models. He smiled as he weaved through them, wishing them a good day and dropping a few interesting facts as he went. He'd grown to love being part of the museum staff. When he talked about history, it was like sharing his friends with the world, bringing their memory back with them into the daytime. 

He found where he'd left his coat, folded up beside a potted plant. He was about to turn and hurry back out of the museum to hunt for a decent coffee, but something made him freeze. It took him a moment to even figure out what was wrong. There was a voice behind him, one so familiar that he hardly even registered it as strange.

"Good lord, how spooky," it said, with a hint of amusement. "I suppose this is the reason you insisted we pay the museum a visit, is it?"

"What, this? Nah," another voice replied. It sent a chill across Larry's skin; hearing Aziraphale's voice in the daytime could have been chalked up to a coincidence, perhaps just someone who sounded similar, but hearing Crowley with him too? That was nigh on impossible. "I wanted to see the handsome devil behind us."

Larry looked over his shoulder, seeing the two of them turn to look at the Genesis Newton exhibit. Aziraphale - who had forgone the toga for a white coat and beige waistcoat - immediately scoffed and rolled his eyes. Crowley, his hair now short and his reptilian eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, flung an arm around his shoulder with a grin. They began to talk again, and Larry caught mention of a few historical dates and people in their quiet conversation. As they spoke, something fell out of Aziraphale's pocket. He didn't seem to notice, too taken up in Crowley's offer of lunch, and Larry spied his chance.

He swooped down, snatching the reading glasses off the ground. He jogged through the crowd, tapping Aziraphale on the shoulder. He turned, a light frown on his face. "Yes?"

"You dropped these," he said, holding them out. 

"Oh! Thank you, dear boy," he replied, happily tucking them into his breast pocket. 

"I noticed you were very interested in the Genesis Newton and the Lost Saint," he said before they had a chance to move off again. They shared a small glance. 

"They're interesting pieces," Crowley said, guarded. Now he was closer, Larry could just about see the slitted eyes staring through the black glass. "My husband here is more fond of books than he is of art, but I can just about talk him into coming to see these things now and then."

Larry smiled broadly. Good; they were married. A part of him worried, when he'd first heard their voices, that they wouldn't have been as brave as the wax models had been. "You like art?" he said, wondering if he could take this knowledge with him back into work.

"A bit," he sniffed.

"Oh, please. You have three genuine Da Vinci sketches at home, and that's just the start," Aziraphale said. Crowley tutted, but he was clearly quite flattered. The angel turned to Larry, speaking as if sharing some secret. "He's a stickler for quality over quantity, you see. He keeps the most exquisite house plants, only a handful, but they are simply flawless."

"Quite right too," he muttered under his breath. Larry nodded in agreement, mentally pocketing the information. "We'd better get going, angel. Lunch, remember?"

"Oh! Yes, of course," he replied. Aziraphale gave Larry a friendly wave. "Lovely meeting you."

"And you," he said, waving them off. As they turned to corner, he shot a sly side-glance toward the Genesis Newton exhibit. He chuckled, picturing the scene the next night when he walked up to Crowley with an armful of pot plants and said _hey, a little birdie told me..._


End file.
